


5 Times Aziraphale Discorporated Crowley (Plus One Time He Didn't)

by ivoryline



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Historical References, Light Angst, M/M, aziraphale is good with a sword, crowley not so much, i wrote this for me but you can read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22691779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryline/pseuds/ivoryline
Summary: what it says on the tinAziraphale loomed over him, his wings flickering into reality. Crawly stared up at him with fear blossoming across his pretty features. Time hung suspended between the two beings and in that moment they were both sure Crawly was about to be destroyed. Aziraphale shattered the moment when he forced his blade through Crawly's chest.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94





	5 Times Aziraphale Discorporated Crowley (Plus One Time He Didn't)

**3004 B.C.**

  
Aziraphale felt the first few drops hit his face and peered up at the sky. He wrung his hands a bit more and didn't dare speak until the temptation to agree with Crawly had been successfully pushed back into the corner of his mind that he tried his best to stay away from. That corner was starting get rather crowded. It seemed like every time he spoke with Crawly he had something new to shove there. 

  
"Well. I suppose it's starting then," he said. He spared a glance sideways and saw Crawly was looking up at the sky as well wearing an expression that said the sky had personally wronged him. He supposed it had. 

  
"I see that," he drawled, "heading back Upstairs 'til it all dries back out?"

  
"No, I think I'll stay," Aziraphale answered quietly. It didn't seem right, somehow, to nip back Upstairs while the humans faced this destruction. The crowd began to disperse. It seems even human curiosity wasn't enough to keep them outside in a downpour just to watch a madman herd animals into a giant boat. Crawly shrugged.

  
"Suit yourself. Think I'll go down to Australia. I've heard the weather's nice and they've got loads of weird animals. See you in a century or two." Aziraphale watched as Crawly turned on his heel and strode off into the desert. Crawly didn't make it far before Aziraphale felt that ripple of electricity that signified the appearance of two ethereal beings. He was unsettled to find Gabriel and Michael standing beside him.

  
"Aziraphale! Here to witness the Almighty's glory I see," Gabriel sounded cheerful as he clapped Aziraphale on the back. Aziraphale grimaced before schooling his face back into a polite smile.

  
"O-of course, Gabriel. I love to see the, um, Great Plan in motion, as it were," Aziraphale stuttered, "Michael, how nice to see you!" Aziraphale clasped his hands tightly in front of him so he wouldn't start to wring them again. Michael acted as if she hadn't heard him. Instead, she surveyed their surroundings with a pinched expression. 

  
Aziraphale hoped that Crawly had the good sense to make himself scarce. He wasn't worried for his safety, he told himself, it was just that this situation was tense enough without having to try to find an explanation for the demon's presence.

  
"I smell something...wicked," Michael said. Aziraphale closed his eyes. Of course it was too much to ask for. He was about to invent some excuse, something about the sheer number of animals and humans, but Gabriel spoke first.

  
"Well spotted, Michael. Aziraphale, how did you not notice a demon a stone's throw away from you?" Gabriel sounded incredulous. Or rather, he tried to sound incredulous but his tone left no room for Aziraphale to doubt that he had expected this sort of failure. The demon in question was standing perfectly still as if by pretending to be a statue the angels wouldn't notice him. He was looking anywhere but at Aziraphale as the rain came down even harder. 

  
"Yes, well, all the animals, you see. And, the um," Aziraphale, hearing how weak his excuse sounded, trailed off. Gabriel's eyes took on a flinty sort of look.

  
"Right," Gabriel smiled at Aziraphale, "since this is your assigned area it's your responsibility to smite it." The words had barely left the Archangel's mouth when Aziraphale found his hand clasping around a sword he hadn't possessed a moment ago. It wasn't his flaming sword, of course it wasn't, but the weight of this one was similar enough. Michael looked repulsed and Gabriel was still wearing that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes that Aziraphale was too afraid to admit he hated.

  
Aziraphale didn't hesitate. He was a soldier of God and he gave Her his full obedience. He had seen what happened to those who didn't. So with the eyes of the Archangels on him he turned and crossed the distance between him and Crawly, his sword raised. Crawly abandoned the statue act and manifested a dagger. Aziraphale spent a thought wondering why on Earth he would choose a dagger and another on how his rain drenched hair had lost all its curl.

  
Aziraphale lunged in, but Crawly was just a hair faster and leapt out of the way. He used the slick mud to his advantage and slid in close on Aziraphale's left side. Crawly may have been quick but he had never been a trained fighter. Crawly didn't even have the chance to use that ridiculous dagger when Aziraphale swung his blade down. This time he wasn't quick enough to get out of the way. Aziraphale's blade bit deep where his neck met his shoulder. 

  
Crawly dropped to the mud, his dagger fell out of his grip. Aziraphale heard him take a few ragged breaths then fall silent. When he could no longer sense Crawly's presence he turned to look at the Archangels. 

  
"Well done, Aziraphale!" Gabriel clapped his hands together once. This time his tone was genuinely incredulous and Aziraphale fought to keep his expression neutral. Aziraphale turned his back on Crawly's body and found himself empty handed once more. His robes felt heavy with rain and mud. "I think I've seen enough, don't you, Michael? I don't care for all this mud nonsense." With that, Gabriel was gone.

  
"Stay vigilant, Principality," Michael said coldly, and she was gone too. Aziraphale stood there a moment longer staring out at the ark and listening to the rumble of thunder, then he stretched his wing out into reality and took flight. If he tried not to think about that rain-darkened red hair against the mud he chalked it up to professional courtesy.

* * *

**2065 B.C.**

  
Aziraphale had thought surely there must be ten righteous men in this city. It was an entire city, for Heaven's sake, ten is really quite a reasonable number. Apparently not, though, judging by Sandalphon's appearance. Aziraphale hurried through the streets in a bid to get well and truly away from Sodom before the brimstone and fire bit began. Sandalphon created a frightening image in the sky where he held himself aloft with his bone white wings and read out the city's sins in a voice layered with divinity.

  
The streets were crowded with people attempting to flee but unable to do anything about their imminent destruction besides scream and beg. Aziraphale was bumped into and shoved as he tried to avoid looking at the terror on anyone's face for too long. His mouth was set in a thin tight line.

  
"Aziraphale!" A voice called from somewhere in front of him. Aziraphale didn't swear but it was a close thing as his eyes found the speaker. He would know that mass of crimson hair anywhere.

  
"Crawly, what are you doing here?" Aziraphale demanded above the din of the crowd. Crawly shouldered his way to the angel, his long hair a wild mess and his eyes a striking yellow from corner to corner.

  
"What's happening?" Crawly answered the question with a question of his own. Aziraphale took him by the arm and pulled him into an alleyway out of the madness in the streets.

  
"The Almighty is smiting the city. Or, more accurately, Sandalphon is." Crawly ripped his arm free of Aziraphale's grasp.

  
"The entire city? Why?" Crawly asked, horrified. Aziraphale huffed and gestured vaguely up at Sandalphon.

  
"Really, Crawly? He's literally shouting the reasons from the rooftops." They glared at each other for a moment. Crawly opened his mouth to speak but Aziraphale held up a hand and cut him off. "Don't start."

  
"You don't know what I was going to say." Crawly looked affronted. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

  
"Yes, I do," he asserted, "You were going to say something about how this is something your side would do. We've had this same conversation several times by now and we really don't have the time for it. We need to leave the city." Crawly blinked at him in surprise then drug his fingers through is hair and winced when they got caught on a knot.   
Aziraphale could see it in his face that he intended to argue with him all the same and moved to grab the demon by the arm, intending to drag the demon through the city if he needed to. Before he could do that, though, the ground gave a tremendous shake and Aziraphale was forced to fling his arm out and grab the wall for support instead. Crawly was looking up at the sky in open terror as fire began to rain down.

  
Aziraphale lurched forward and grabbed Crawly. He seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the sky so Aziraphale started to drag him. He had once thought that touching the demon would be painful for them both. He remembered a chance meeting at a tavern and their fingers had brushed when Crawly passed him a cup. Aziraphale had been so startled he dropped the cup and it had shattered on the dirt floor. Crawly had snapped his fingers and repaired the cup with an "honestly, angel". He had never told Crawly about his assumption knowing that the redhead would've just laughed at him.

  
They had nearly made it out of the alley when Aziraphale felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He released Crawly and slowly turned to stare up at Sandalphon. The smiting angel's eyes were on him, and by extension, Crawly. Fear settled in his stomach like a stone. If Sandalphon hadn't been a fellow angel Aziraphale would have described him as cruel, but he was so he doesn't. Sandalphon would not just discorporate Crawly, he would destroy him. Lord only knows what punishment Aziraphale would receive for helping a demon. He really only had one option, then. 

  
Aziraphale manifested that different-yet-familiar sword and gripped it tight. He needed to be fast before Crawly caught on and made the whole thing messier than it needed to be. Quick as thought he spun around and ran Crawly through. Crawly stumbled back, his eyes going from the sky to the blade thrust deep in his gut and finally landing on Aziraphale.

  
"Aziraphale?" Crawly's voice came out in a ragged whisper. His eyebrows pinched together in a look of confusion. His skin was already starting to take on a sick, waxy color.

  
"It was either me discorporate you or Sandalphon destroy you. I figured you might prefer this," Aziraphale said as kindly as he could. He miracled away the sword and felt Sandalphon's gaze move elsewhere. Crawly doubled over and pressed his hands to the wound. The red of the blood that poured out around his fingers gave his hair a run for its money.

  
"Rather prefer neither, actually," he gasped out, sinking to his knees. Aziraphale couldn't find it in him to be surprised that Crawly managed to be snarky at a time like this. 

  
"I _am_ sorry about this." Aziraphale wasn't sure why but it was true. He knew he needed to leave but it didn't feel quite right to just leave Crawly like this.

  
"Sssorry? About ssmiting a demon? You're an angel. Think that'ss sort of in the job desscription," Crawly hissed so faintly that Aziraphale struggled to hear it, "jusst go before you wind up bleeding out in the dirt, too." Aziraphale dithered for a moment longer and listened to Crawly's quick, shallow breaths before hurrying out of the alley and back into the street.

  
Outside the city, the angel paused to study a pillar of salt and tried very hard not to think about what the demon would've said to him about sides. 

* * *

  
**387 B.C.**

  
Rome was burning. It was something Rome did often, and would do several more times after this, but Aziraphale couldn't say that he enjoyed it. He leaned against the wall of a building and tried to catch his breath. He watched the firelight cast disturbing shadows on the stone. His face and clothes were streaked with sweat and soot. His shoddy, chipped sword hung limply in his grasp.

  
He closed his eyes against the orange night and tried to convince himself that the screams of women and shouts of soldiers were far enough off not to concern him. In that stolen moment of wishful thinking he heard the soft, almost inaudible sound of a soft sole shoe creeping on a stone street. As soon as he registered the sound the owner of the shoes flung themselves at Aziraphale. He swung his blade up, steel meeting steel, and shoved his attacker back.

  
"You," Aziraphale gasped out. It might be shorter than he'd ever seen it but Aziraphale knew that red hair and the amber eyes beneath it. 

  
"Hey, Aziraphale. Been a while," Crawly said, resettling his sword in his grip. Aziraphale took in the demon's visage. His constellation of freckles were covered up with grime and his tunic painted with what must be blood. 

  
Aziraphale should've known this was the work of Hell. He should not be surprised to find Crawly here playing at being a swordsman. A woman's scream pierced the air and Aziraphale felt divinity race across his skin. Aziraphale raised his sword and hacked down at Crawly with no finesse. The demon leapt back and raised his own sword in an inexpert grip. 

  
Crawly swung his blade and it was immediately clear that he didn't know how to handle his weapon. The angel parried his attempts easily then began making attacks of his own. He drove Crawly back, the redhead just fast enough to stave off the onset of blows. Their blades met again and Aziraphale pushed in close enough to see beads of sweat on Crawly's brow. He shoved the demon hard and he went sprawling into the street.

  
Aziraphale loomed over him, his wings flickering into reality. Crawly stared up at him with fear blossoming across his pretty features. Time hung suspended between the two beings and in that moment they were both sure Crawly was about to be destroyed. Aziraphale shattered the moment when he forced his blade through Crawly's chest. 

  
Crawly had a vague expression of surprise on his face as he looked up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale gazed coldly down at him before turning his back on Crawly. He didn't have any qualms about leaving the demon to die. Not this time.

* * *

**540 A.D.**

  
Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley in three years. They had gone much longer in the past without seeing one another and Aziraphale wouldn't mind in the least if he didn't see the demon's face for the rest of the century. Honestly, the nerve. As if he could simply _lie_ to Heaven, to Gabriel. Aziraphale shivered.

  
After Crowley had made his ludicrous suggestion that Aziraphale had rightly declined, he had stormed off. He would be able to put the whole thing from his mind for a time and try to get back to his original purpose, but really Wessex was quite dull for the most part. He would find himself alone but for his squire and bored. Then Aziraphale's mind would wander and it always wandered back to Crowley's proposition. No, temptation. And then Aziraphale would fume.

  
Aziraphale had been fuming for the last few miles. He stomped along and tried to tune out the near deafening clatter of his armor. He supposed his squire was trying to talk to him, but even if he could hear him over the din he was making he wasn't in the mood at all to talk. So, he ignored him and continued to stomp and fume.

  
He wished he had paid closer attention to what his squire was trying to tell him because his stomping had led him into a clearing. Not just any clearing. There were several dirty white tents and one pitch black tent set up in a semi circle a safe distance from a fire pit. Aziraphale saw three men sitting around the fire pit, or more accurately he saw two men and one man shaped being. Aziraphale groaned and turned to leave.

  
"Aziraphale, so nice of you to join us," Crowley called out, stopping the angel in his tracks. He closed his eyes for a moment and sent up a plea for patience he knew would be ignored before turning back to face Crowley. The demon was smirking at him.

  
"I am not joining you," Aziraphale huffed, "because I'm not at all interested in speaking to you." Crowley put on a player's pout as he rose from his seat.

  
"Come on, angel, don't be like that." Aziraphale's squire fidgeted with the reins of their horses as the Black Knight came closer. Crowley stopped a few feet away from them and stood with one hip cocked out, a feat in his armor. "You're not still angry about my proposition, are you?"

  
"I'm not angry, "Aziraphale lied, "I just don't appreciate you trying to tempt me." 

  
"I'm not trying to tempt you, Aziraphale. It's a good idea and you know it," Crowley snapped. Normally, Aziraphale enjoyed arguing with Crowley. Good natured disagreements with the only being on Earth that had as much perspective as he had over whatever the locals passed off as good alcohol were, quite frankly, something he looked forward to. He could tell they were heading towards the not fun sort of arguments. The sort where the both dug their heels in and ended in decades of the cold shoulder. 

  
"Yes, well, pleasant as this is I think I'll take my leave now," Aziraphale said and gestured to his squire to turn around. Better to leave now and hope to run into Crowley at some tavern a few years down the line when he had given up his ridiculous notion. 

  
"Wait," Crowley said, "let's duel for it." Aziraphale once again stopped, and looked over his shoulder.

  
"A duel," he said flatly.

  
"Yeah, a duel. If I win then we give my idea a try." Aziraphale could see the little light of mischief in Crowley's eyes that he got whenever he thought he was being particularly clever. It usually boded ill for the both of them.

  
"We are not dueling, Crowley," Aziraphale put as much disdain as he could muster into the statement to try to dissuade Crowley. 

  
"Why? Are you scared, angel?" He taunted. Aziraphale turned fully to face him and opened his mouth to argue but Crowley wasn't done speaking. "I've had some lessons, y'know. I've never given my weapon away so I've already got a leg up on you."

  
"You are being ridiculous," Aziraphale started.

  
"Don't be a coward," Crowley said as he looked down his nose at Aziraphale. Suddenly, Aziraphale was quite keen to see how good of a leaner Crowley was.

  
"Fine. Terms?" he asked with a sigh. Crowley's face split into a grin and he rubbed his hands together.

  
"If I win we try my idea. If you win I'll give you that manuscript you've been trying to pry from me. Oh, and it'll be to the death." Crowley tacked the last bit on nonchalantly as he drew his sword from its scabbard. 

  
"To the death? Crowley, I don't-" Aziraphale said, startled. Crowley's grip on his sword certainly seemed better than the last time Aziraphale had seen him with one in his hand but surely he was being overconfident.

  
"Aziraphale," he drawled, "Don't. Be. A. Coward." Aziraphale took a deep breath and drew his own sword. Crowley tipped his head to indicate they should take their duel just to the left of his camp. Aziraphale followed him to a second, smaller clearing and spent a moment inspecting the ground for errant stones and dips in the earth. 

  
The two beings stood ten paces apart and bowed; Aziraphale's stiff and formal and Crowley's slight and mocking. As soon as they were upright Crowley was on him, likely thinking his lithe figure afforded him speed Aziraphale didn't possess. Aziraphale set up a good defense and had to admit that Crowley's skills had indeed improved. 

  
Aziraphale allowed Crowley to test his defenses for a few passes while he sized the redhead up. Crowley may have been taking lessons from humans but Aziraphale had been trained to wield a sword from the moment of his creation. He switched from defense to offense and began to make passes of his own. He started slow and built up his speed until Crowley was swearing as he tried to get his own weapon up in time to block. 

  
"Would you like to change the terms? I'll allow it, just this once," Aziraphale said lightly as Crowley stumbled over his own feet.

  
"Cocky doesn't suit you," Crowley gasped. Aziraphale backed off to give the other time to catch his breath and consider the offer. Crowley passed his sword to his other hand, shook out the one that had been holding it, then passed it back. Aziraphale wasn't surprised when Crowley once again raised his weapon. Crowley had always been stubborn. 

  
Aziraphale allowed their dance to continue a while longer until Crowley was visibly exhausted and starting to make clumsy mistakes. Their blades kissed and Aziraphale swept his in a large arc until he was bearing his weight down on Crowley. The demon trembled under the effort to keep Aziraphale's blade at bay.

  
"Yield, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. Crowley looked from Aziraphale to their blades and gave an almost minute shake of his head. Aziraphale sighed and put his full strength behind his sword. Crowley buckled and the angel's sword passed neatly through his armor and bit deep into his shoulder. 

  
"Bollocks," Crowley groaned as he hit the ground with a clatter. Aziraphale pulled a handkerchief out of the ether and wiped his blade clean before replacing it in his scabbard.

  
"I think," Aziraphale said as he gazed down at Crowley, red hair striking against the grass and the black of his armor, "that in our familiarity you forget I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, wielder of a flaming sword. I'm sure your teachers were talented but only one of us was created for swordplay. I'll be expecting that manuscript once you get a replacement body." 

* * *

**1778 A.D.**

  
Aziraphale was thoroughly miserable. He had often thought longingly of summer during the long winter trapped within the walls of Valley Forge but now that June was underway he decided he rather preferred his fantasies to the real thing. He was hot and his sweat drenched uniform clung to him in all the ways it shouldn't. 

  
The moment they had handed him a musket he decided he would never fire the thing. The weapon felt awkward in his hands and he would've abandoned it all together if he hadn't needed to keep up appearances. He had loaded it all the same when they had moved to stop the British retreat and tried to hold it like he knew how to use it.

  
Aziraphale was sick of the noise. He'd had enough of the deafening clamor of battle in his many lifetimes to last him through the rest of them. He stumbled through the battlefield and did his best to look like he was doing something and considered giving up the whole assignment up as a wash. He should've flipped Crowley for this assignment but no, he had thought it would be _interesting_ to see the colonies. 

  
Aziraphale felt something at the periphery of his senses, like the humming of a cello string just before it falls silent. He scanned the confusing mass of faces for the source of the low hum with what he told himself wasn't excitement. Crowley was surely here to cause trouble but at least it would be the interesting sort of trouble.

  
His eyes found what they sought and really it wasn't fair. Crowley's dirt smirched red coat should have clashed horribly with the crimson hair pulled loosely back from his face but it didn't. Crowley held his own musket with far more confidence than he had ever held a sword. Unfortunately, he cut quite a handsome figure.

  
Crowley appeared to be searching for something as well and Aziraphale vainly wondered what sort of indicator the demon felt for his presence. Their eyes met and Aziraphale couldn't help the slow grin that broke out on his face. Crowley looked entirely exasperated but started to make his way over to Aziraphale regardless. Aziraphale moved to meet him halfway.

  
At least that was his intention. Aziraphale's right foot made its acquaintance with a deep divot in the earth and he pitched forward, his hands gripping his weapon in all the right ways. A shot rang out and Aziraphale nearly dropped his musket in surprise. He managed to keep enough of his balance to avoid falling flat on his face and looked at the demon. He expected to see Crowley laughing at him but instead he was clutching his chest, a look of surprise painted on his face.

  
Aziraphale did drop his musket then and crossed the distance between them quickly. His hands fluttered around Crowley, unsure of what to do but the instinct to fuss taking over. Crowley gave Aziraphale a long, flat look.

  
"Really, Aziraphale. I _just_ got this body and you had to go and shoot me. And not even on purpose," he said and gritted his teeth. He tried to take a step away from whatever bizarre dance the angel's hands were doing in his vicinity but his legs had other plans. He went down on one knee, then the other, and leaned back onto his heels. 

  
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. It truly was an accident," Aziraphale told him as he bent to kneel in the dirt beside Crowley. Crowley tried to laugh but it came out as a hoarse cough.

  
"What a ridiculous way to die. Accidentally murdered by an angel." Crowley squeezed his eyes shut as he added more pressure on his wound. Aziraphale tisked.

  
"These weapons are quite rudimentary, you may not even be dying," Aziraphale told him, "here let me see." He gently pulled Crowley's bloody hands away and took stock of the damage. He winced. "Yes, you do appear to be dying." Crowley rolled his eyes.

  
"Thanks so much for the diagnosis, doctor," Crowley said dryly, "any more insights to give before I go?" It was Aziraphale's turn to roll his eyes.

  
"Do you know, sometimes you really are insufferable?" This earned him another facsimile of a laugh.

  
"You're really going to insssult me? Here on my deathbed?" Crowley was beginning to struggle with speech, his freckles standing out on his waxy skin in a way Aziraphale was far too familiar with. He felt a pinch in the place humans keep their hearts.

  
Rather than answer, Aziraphale reached out to the demon slowly until they rested on his shoulders. He paused to give Crowley a chance to pull away but he just looked at Aziraphale, lips slightly parted and eyebrows quirked in confusion. Aziraphale pulled him gently until Crowley's back rested against his chest. Crowley stiffened then seemed to relax into the angel's hold all at once.

  
"Is this alright?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley leaned his head back to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder and nodded. They exchanged no more words. The battle around them continued but the only thing Aziraphale could hear was Crowley's shallow, uneven breathing. It wasn't long until that sound faded as well and the battlefield might as well have been silent.

  
Aziraphale decided he'd had enough of the colonies and killing fields. He would go back to lodgings in England and have a bottle of Crowley's favorite wine waiting for his return.

* * *

  
  
**2025 A.D.**

  
It was mid-morning and the sunlight filtered in through the windows in the perfect angle for reading, which is exactly what Aziraphale was doing. He was curled up on the couch with his feet tucked up underneath him and a well loved copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in his lap. It was silent but for the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the occasional turning of a page. Aziraphale was enjoying himself immensely. 

  
He felt that once familiar zing of divinity and frowned. He looked up to see Gabriel in that immaculate grey suit and cold, purple eyes. Gabriel smiled down at Aziraphale but Aziraphale's frown only deepened. He had always hated that empty expression.

  
"What are you doing here, Gabriel? I'm fairly certain it was made clear we are to be left alone," Aziraphale said with a sigh. Gabriel's expression didn't move an inch.

  
"Yes, yes I know," he said in an indulgent tone, "but I'm here with a proposition for you."

  
"A proposition," Aziraphale said flatly.

  
"Exactly. We are fully prepared to accept you back into the host given you destroy the demon Crowley," Gabriel said, even white teeth on display. The ticking of the kitchen clock seemed louder than usual.

  
"Oh, I see," Aziraphale said softly. Gabriel nodded encouragingly.

  
"Do we have a deal?" he asked. 

  
"I'll need time to think on it. I'll let you know," Aziraphale told him. 

  
"Sure, whatever. Just don't take too long, Aziraphale." Then Gabriel was gone. Aziraphale stared at the spot where he had stood then slid his bookmark into place and set the book on the coffee table. He stood and slipped on his house shoes before making his way through the kitchen and out onto the back porch.

  
Crowley was kneeling in the garden, not caring at all what the dirt did to his black jeans. He was whispering what Aziraphale knew to be threats to the plants they had picked up from the nursery in town earlier that morning. Aziraphale stared in open admiration at Crowley's long lines and sharp edges. The cut of his jaw, sunglasses perched on a slightly crooked nose, hair the color of the first temptation tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck. 

  
"Really, my dear. At least wait until they're out of their plastic pots to begin frightening them," Aziraphale admonished. Crowley didn't even look up.

  
"You have to get started right away, angel, I've told you a thousand times. They'll have the run of the place if you don't set boundaries," Crowley told him.

  
"They're azaleas."

  
"And they'll do as I say if they want to stay that way." Aziraphale watched as Crowley began digging holes for their new azaleas. He hadn't put his gardening gloves on so Aziraphale could look forward to listening to Crowley complain about the dirt under his nails. 

  
Aziraphale cast his gaze out over the rest of their garden. The slight breeze rustled the leaves on their citrus tree and waved branches of bushes. Flowers crept out and bloomed in a riot of color. Aziraphale's herb garden was an unruly mess and Crowley fought a never ending war against the mint. Birds tittered and sang counterpoint to the hum of insects. Aziraphale thought that if he had another 6,000 years he could never paint a scene as lovely as the one in front of him.

  
He wandered over to Crowley and watched his long fingered hands work, careful to stand out of the sunlight's way. Crowley dug a neat little hole then gently removed a plant from its pot and settled it in the hole before filling it back in with soil. He repeated this process twice before Aziraphale spoke. 

  
"Gabriel popped in," he said. Crowley's hands stilled.

  
"Did he now," Crowley murmured, gaze still focused on the plants.

  
"Yes. He said if I destroyed you they'd welcome me back," Aziraphale told him. Crowley finally looked up at Aziraphale, face inscrutable. After a long moment, Crowley's face split into a grin and he laughed. Aziraphale tried to remain serious but he couldn't help but join in.

  
"What did you tell him?" Crowley asked.

  
"That I would think about it," Aziraphale answered, "I figured we could send him one of those glitter bomb things you came up with, maybe have Anathema curse it so he can't miracle the glitter away." Crowley laughed again, an unrestrained, joyful thing.

  
"Have I told you today that I love you?" Crowley's smile was soft, one meant just for Aziraphale.

  
"You have, but I'll never get tired of hearing it." Aziraphale couldn't resist it anymore. He bent over and kissed Crowley slowly and sweetly. No matter how many times they did that he would always be amazed at how perfectly they fit together. He pulled back and relished the sight of the pale pink blush high on Crowley's cheeks.

  
"Whatever," Crowley grumbled, "the truth of it is that it's been so long you probably wouldn't know what to do anymore." 

  
"It has been quite a while, hasn't it. Since what? 1776? 1778?" Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

  
"Hey, now, that doesn't count. That was an accident," Crowley said, pointing at him with the trowel and pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head so Aziraphale could fully appreciate his glare. 

  
"You know, I never did go back to the states after that incident," Aziraphale told him. Crowley scoffed.

  
"Good thing, that. The last thing those people need is another gun toting lunatic." Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

  
"I wouldn't have a gun if I went back now, Crowley."

  
"Of course you wouldn't because I wouldn't let you. You'd bump into a table and I'd find myself full of bullet holes." Crowley cocked an eyebrow as if daring Aziraphale to argue. 

  
"You are the most ridiculous creature I have ever met," Aziraphale told him with a shake of his head. Aziraphale reached down and cupped Crowley's face with one hand and tucked an errant hair behind his ear with the other. He kissed Crowley's forehead and then started to make his way back inside. It was nearly time to prepare lunch.

  
Aziraphale had one foot over the threshold when he turned back to look at Crowley. His serpent was staring after him, looking completely love-struck. Amber eyes alive in the sunshine and freckles like constellations.

  
"My love?" Aziraphale called back to him.

  
"Yes?"

  
"If you track mud into my kitchen again we both know that I know how to make it look like an accident." 

  
Aziraphale left the door open to let in the sound of Crowley's laughter and the quiet delight of living things. 

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a writing exercise to work on writing fight scenes that sort of ran away from me. i have some other fics i'm currently working on but i plan to write a companion piece to this because crowley definitely deserves a little revenge for what aziraphale and i did to him in this fic. come chat with me on tumblr


End file.
